


O luscious dish!

by angelsaves



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: Abuse of poetry, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Podfic Welcome, butterscotch krimpets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: Brad is coming over to Claire's apartment today, because she absolutely has to figure out what she's doing wrong with Butterscotch Krimpets. (The snack cakes are not what gets eaten.)
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	O luscious dish!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistresscurvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscurvy/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!
> 
> Betaed by the incomparable phnelt!

Brad is coming over to Claire's apartment today, because she absolutely has to figure out what she's doing wrong with Butterscotch Krimpets, and even though he doesn't have a sweet tooth, he has very strong opinions on Tastykake products.

"It's a Jersey thing," he says confidently. "You gotta -- you gotta _savor_ them, Claire."

"Do I, Brad? Do I have to savor them?" But it's not like she can say no to him, all puppyish enthusiasm and golden stubble and muscles and blue, blue eyes, and --

She's getting off track, here. The point is, Brad is about to be in her home, and that is how just _so_ many of her fantasies start, but she can't think about anything like _that_ , because he's her coworker, and oh, God, what has she gotten herself into?

Claire tidies frantically (it's what her mother would do) until the buzzer goes off. "Come in," she shouts into the box, and then she can hear Brad's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Claire!" Brad says when she opens the door, like seeing her is a wonderful surprise.

"Brad!" she replies, stepping aside to let him in.

It's funny: Claire had thought that Brad would look out of place in her apartment, too big for the postage stamp-sized chunk of real estate, but he doesn't. He fits.

She realizes she's staring. "Let me get you a drink!" she says, too loudly. "What'll it be?"

"Tap water is fine," he says (it comes out _wouder_ , like always), and then instead of letting her escape to the kitchen alone, he follows her. "Hey -- Claire."

"Yeah?" She goes on tiptoe to get a glass, puts a few ice cubes in it, fills it at the sink, her back to Brad.

He clears his throat, and -- what the fuck? -- begins to recite: "How do I love thee? Thou art more lovely than... a thing with feathers... that cannot fly."

"Are... are you telling me I'm prettier than a penguin? Is that what's happening right now?" Claire asks, genuinely bewildered.

"I'm trying to say I love you, Saffitz!" Brad throws his hands up. "And yeah, you're way prettier than a penguin."

"Oh," Claire says. "Thank you."

There's a pause while she tries to process this, and then Brad says, in a small, awful voice, "I should probably go, then, huh?"

"What? God, no!" Claire blurts out, and while the smile is still breaking over his face, she finally gives in to the urge to climb him like a tree. She winds her arms around his neck and kisses him like it's going out of style.

They kiss and kiss -- Brad is just unfairly good at this, like so many other things -- until he gets her backed up against the counter.

"Ow," Claire says, romantically. "Sorry, I'm -- short."

"I can fix that," Brad says, God, just like Dulé Hill in _Holes_ , and scoops her up with those fucking _arms_ , depositing her on the counter. And then --

"Brad! I prepare food here!" He's undone her pants and is trying to pull them, and her underwear, out from under her.

"Yeah, so I bet you keep it real clean, huh?" He kisses her again, taking his time about it. "And we can clean it again."

He's very persuasive, is the thing. "Fine," Claire says, "you win," and pushes up on her hands so he can get her clothes off.

Brad gives her an absolutely _wicked_ grin. "I dunno, I think we both might be winning, here, Half-Sour." He gets down on his knees, looking up at her. "This okay?"

"Yes," Claire says, charmed. "Please, Brad."

He opens her thighs, then, and sighs with pleasure, the same way he does when he's made some complicated condiment exactly how he wanted. She squirms a little under his regard, and Brad nips her just inside her left knee. "Patience," he says, and kisses where he bit.

"Oh, _patience_ , is that what we're doing, here? We haven't even -- oh --"

Brad's tongue is _everywhere_ , his big hands holding her legs apart. It's like he wants to taste every part of her at once, overwhelming and so, so good.

"C'mon," Brad says. "Tell me what to do. You're the expert." He looks up at her, mouth all shiny, eyes so _fucking_ blue. "I wanna get this right."

"You're doing great, Brad." She pets the side of his face, rough with stubble. "You can -- you can use your fingers, if you want."

"Oh yeah?" He grins. "I can do that." He licks his fingers, and then he licks her cunt, right up inside, and slides a wet fingertip in next to his tongue.

" _Oh_ yeah," Claire agrees, clutching at the edge of the countertop.

"Mmm." Brad pushes his finger in a little deeper, licking up to her clit.

"Just -- _ohh!_ \-- just like that, oh, shit!"

 _He takes direction well_ , she thinks dizzily: he keeps going, doing exactly what made her cry out over and over until she comes, grabbing at his shoulders and throwing her head back (narrowly missing hitting her head on the cabinets).

"Can you go again?" Brad asks, licking his lips.

Claire considers the idea. "I don't think so," she says, "but -- thanks."

"Any time, Saffitz." He gets to his feet. "A-ny-time."

"What -- uh, what can I do for you?" she asks.

"You don't gotta do anything at all," Brad says.

Claire glances down to where Brad is very obviously palming his dick through his jeans. "I know," she says. "I want to, though."

"Just -- can I kiss you?" He gestures to his mouth, still all slick from eating her out. "After --?"

"Yeah, of course." She tilts her face up, and Brad groans, kissing her hard. He tastes sort of salty and sweet, and she can feel him rocking his hips against the counter.

"Is that -- good?" she asks, nodding to his whole situation. "You can use your hand -- I could use _my_ hand --"

Brad groans again. "Don't wanna make you clean my jizz off your quartz, there," he says, eyes shut.

"Then _you_ do the cleaning," Claire says, and shoves her hand into his pants. His dick is hot and velvety, big as the rest of him, and when she touches it, his mouth falls open like she's hit him over the head.

She yanks him closer with her heels on his ass, jerking him off while he pants in her ear. It only takes a few strokes before he comes all over her bare thigh, exhaling hard, like it's a relief.

"See?" Claire says, just to needle him. "That wasn't so hard."

"Everything works better with you," Brad says, and it's so sweet and earnest that it makes her hurt a little.

"We make a good team." Claire kisses him again, not even paying attention to the mess between them. There'll be time for that later; right now is for Brad's mouth on hers, his hands in her hair -- the two of them, together.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from [this sonnet](https://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=389x6310435) that Julia Child's husband wrote her for her birthday in 1961. 
> 
> The poems Brad mangles are, in order, [Sonnet 43](https://poets.org/poem/how-do-i-love-thee-sonnet-43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, [Sonnet 18](https://poets.org/poem/shall-i-compare-thee-summers-day-sonnet-18) by William Shakespeare, ["Hope" is the thing with feathers](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314) by Emily Dickinson, and [Dreams](https://poets.org/poem/dreams) by Langston Hughes.


End file.
